


Winning Isn't Everything (Except When It Is)

by bugchicklv



Series: Winning Isn't Everything [1]
Category: Make Me a Supermodel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugchicklv/pseuds/bugchicklv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of ficlets based on MMAS behind the scenes, interviews and episodes written as an RPF work of pure fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Physical Attraction (prologue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder why Ronnie blushed so badly when Ben told the coach that they’d been working out together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by [](http://neroli66.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://neroli66.livejournal.com/)**neroli66**.

Ronnie has this hang-up about working out around other people; it makes him strangely uncomfortable. Considering his choice of profession, his decision to enter this contest in the first place, being watched is something that he knows he has to get used to. Of course, being a gay man doesn’t help at all. In Chicago, the gym is more of a place to be seen--or, more precisely, to hook-up--than it is a place to exercise and that’s just never really been his style. It's why he's avoided the work-out room like the plague; but since he needed to keep in shape and it was the only place to exercise in he doesn't have much of a choice.

He hangs back, leaning against the door jam as he surveys the room and considers waiting for the other person to leave; when he realizes it is Ben, the oh-so-cute and completely unattainable pretty-boy he ogled incessantly during preliminaries, he changes his mind.

Ronnie stands in the corner, out of Ben’s eye-line, watching him run. He knows he shouldn’t stare, that his Grandma would have his hide for being so rude, but he didn’t want to break Ben’s concentration. Didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Not yet. He wanted a little time to size up his competition.

Ben’s form is perfect, his gait sure and even. Strong legs pump in a rapid tempo that Ronnie’s heart is racing to catch up to. He’s focused, dedicated, breathing hard, and Ronnie can see the sweat shimmer in the dim light all the way across the room. He opens his eyes and falters, missing a step, and Ronnie squelches the urge to apologize for interrupting him. Instead, he waves hello and heads for the weight bench.

Ben nods and grabs his water bottle, popping open the cap with a quick flick of his thumb. Ronnie watches as Ben turns it up, drinking thirstily. More of it slides down his chest than ends up in his mouth and Ronnie can’t help but stare, again, as the rivulets trickle toward his belly-button and disappear into Ben’s waistband.

His eyes never leave Ben as Ronnie reaches out and starts adding weights to the bar. He's not really paying that much attention to his task, more engrossed in idle thoughts of where that water would head next, and after a few moments of avid beef-cake appreciation he begins to think that he really should have worn a cup. Placing his towel over his crotch rather than under his back, Ronnie lies down and takes a deep breath, ready to start his work out...and immediately knows he’s made a mistake.

He grunts and pushes, his eyes closed, as he struggles to lift the weight off his chest. All of his muscles tense in the effort to put that bar back into position and he curses himself for his lack of focus.

Suddenly, he feels the bar move and he opens his eyes to find Ben standing above him, towel wrapped around his neck, spotting him.

“Looked like you could use the help.”

With a sheepish grin Ronnie drops his hands to rest on his chest and replies, “Thanks.”

Ben waves it off. “Start off a little too heavy?” he asks, lips twisted into a side-ways smile.

Ronnie heard the question but doesn’t answer right away, his attention drawn to Ben’s mouth. Only one week in and he thinks that if it’s not his sexy, deep voice or smoking hot bod, it may be Ben’s smile that’s his undoing. He makes a mental note to keep that infatuation in check. “Yeah, I guess,” he admits, reluctantly.

Ben nods and then pulls off a few of the discs. He puts them back on the rack and returns, offering, “I’ll spot you.”

Ronnie quickly agrees and immediately wishes he hadn’t. How in the hell is he supposed to concentrate with Ben’s crotch in his direct line of sight? He turns his face to the side a bit, desperate for a view that isn’t quite so erotic, and then groans--hoping it sounds more like a grunt as he lifts--because either way he looks all he can see is Ben’s gorgeous legs and the sweat glistening off the hair on his thighs.

Muscle memory takes over as he pumps, years of training helping him struggle through, and the set is complete before he has a chance to let his gaze wander further. Ben pulls the bar back to rest on the cradle and Ronnie sits up, grabbing quickly for the towel to make sure it doesn’t fall off his lap.

Ben grins and slaps his chest, pounding on it like Tarzan. “I need to work on my chest, too. Especially after losing so much weight. Makes my arms look over-developed,” Ben tells him, striking a pose and pumping his biceps before laughing at his own tom-foolery.

Ronnie wants to say that his chest is perfect, his legs are perfect, his arms are perfect--that everything about him needs absolutely no improvement. Wants to tell Ben that he is the statue David, re-made into flesh; but what he actually says is: “If you want I can help you.”

The offer escapes before Ronnie even has a chance to consider whether or not it’s a good idea to coach Ben when he _is_ the competition and Ronnie shouldn’t be volunteering to assist him. Also, it doesn’t help that he can’t really concentrate on anything but Ben’s body and how much he wants to touch him. It wouldn’t do for either of them to get hurt before the competition even really begins. He'd never hear the end of that one at home.

After a moment of consideration, Ben smiles and replies, “That’d be great.”

Ben takes the bench, not bothering to wipe it off first and Ronnie has to bite his lip. He knows that their perspiration is mixing, mingling beneath Ben's back and he gets lost in the image of them working up a sweat in some other, just as intense, work-out. Seeing him lie there, prone, his legs spread and arms open up towards him is almost more than he can bear and Ronnie wonders how Ben can be so completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on him.

Ben struggles through a few reps and then sighs in relief when Ronnie helps him place the bar back into position. Stretching out his muscles he mutters, “Gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Ronnie nods his agreement but he's not ready to let him just leave yet. Always a glutton for punishment, he suggests Ben do a few bent-over rows to even him out. “Don’t want to be front heavy,” he tells him with a quick laugh, hoping that Ben doesn’t see right through the lame excuse to watch him some more.

“Good point. Like working out your triceps after your biceps, you’ve got to counter balance--for symmetry.”

Ronnie breaths a sigh of relief that his plan worked and replies, “Exactly.” The truth is he just wants to see Ben bent over that bench with his pert little ass up in the air, his muscles pumping. Wants to listen to him breathing hard and grunting with the effort.

And that is precisely the show he gets.

Ronnie stares as Ben does a few reps, all the while itching to reach out and touch him. To see if that skin is as soft as it looks, the muscles as hard as he imagines. When he notices Ben’s form slip he sees the opportunity and Ronnie has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He places his hand on Ben’s elbow and tucks it in against his side--marveling at the strength he feels there, like velvet over steel--and then lets his fingers idly slide up his arm. He puts his palm on Ben’s back and tells him, “Concentrate. Feel the muscles tighten under my hand. That’s where you need to feel the burn.”

Of course, Ronnie is feeling a burn of his own in a much different place, quite a bit farther south than his back.

Ben switches sides and Ronnie offers up a silent ‘thank you’ as he has to correct the man's form once again. With his hand still resting on Ben’s back, Ronnie notices a bead of sweat drip out of his hair and circle behind his ear; watches as that glistening drop slides down Ben’s neck and then heads towards his fingers. Ronnie swallows hard and licks his lips, his tongue swiping at the sweat on his own skin--sweat not caused by any actual physical exertion--and vicariously tastes him.

Ronnie would bet everything he owned that Ben tastes like salt and heaven.

Too quickly the set is over and Ben politely thanks him again. Side by side they continue to work out and Ronnie gives up the notion of actually keeping track of how many reps he’s done and of what exercise. His body is working on autopilot; at this point he's simply going through the motions.

When they’re done Ben asks, “You gonna hit the showers now?”

The image of Ben wearing nothing but soap bubbles is more than he can stand, and Ronnie immediately feels his heart and hormones racing once more. “No thanks. I think I’ll run a bit.”

Ben frowns at that. “My trainer says you should do cardio before lifting so that you have more energy to burn fat.”

Yeah, Ronnie knows this, but with Ben around his brain doesn’t seem to want to work right. “I would, usually,” Ronnie tells him with a smirk. “Special circumstance. But don’t worry, I’m more than worked up enough right now.” Running in place he adds, “Feeling like the Energizer Bunny.”

Ben laughs and then grabs his towel. With a mock-salute he heads out the door.

When Ronnie is sure Ben is gone and has no intention of returning he jumps up and quickly flicks the lock into place. He grabs his own towel from where it had fallen on the floor and then heads for the weight bench. Pressing his bare back into the pool of their mixed sweat he marvels at how warm and sensuous it feels. He slides his hand under the waistband of his shorts and grabs hold of his cock, his minds eye picturing Ben as he jerks off...

...and when he comes he knows that he won’t be able to fantasize about anyone else for a long time.


	2. Easier Said Than Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie & Ben adjust to being roommates.

Ronnie blinks to clear the lingering sleep from his eyes and looks around searching for what woke him up at three-eighteen in the morning.

When his night vision adjusts to the low light Ronnie turns his head and sees his roommate, Ben, asleep in the bed across the room. He notices how the other man’s hands are folded over his chest--elbows at his side, fingers interlaced--and the blankets are pulled up under his chin, tucked tightly around his well-defined body. Like his mom had been there or something. Ben's face is pinched, the furrow on his brow more pronounced in slumber, and his beautiful lips are turned down in a frown. 

Christ, even his breathing sounded tightly controlled.

He worries that part, if not all, of the reason for this is his fault. That even though Ben _said_ he was cool with the whole “crush thing” maybe part of his problem come the catwalk is that it really _does_ bother him. That Ben is simply afraid of what the other CO’s might think of their friendship, and especially fearful of what his wife will say to him when all of this is over--win or lose--and he has to return to his well-planned life in Nashville.

Ronnie considers lying to Ben, plays with the idea of telling him that he really couldn't care, that he's not actually head over heals, and then bragging about out how well it's worked, this ploy to throw another contestant off his game. Yeah, taking the heat for such a conniving act might upset the other contestants, would probably piss off the fans that are pulling for him, but it would remove the spotlight from Ben--if only for a while--and give him time to settle into this place. Maybe allow Ben the space he needs to finally find his groove. 

On the other hand, while he knows he can act, Ronnie is also pretty sure that no one would buy it. After all, he's never been very good at the flat-out lie. 

Especially not to someone he loves.

\-------

Ben hears him wake up, can feel those doe eyes on him, and he tenses. Briefly, he wonders what Ronnie’s thinking as he lies there in the dark; wonders if the other man realizes that Ben's debilitating case of nerves, the ones that have plagued him every minute of every hour that he’s been here, has nothing to do with the actual competition.

The judges, coaches and other models are quick to offer him advice: that Ben simply needs to loosen up. Hell, like he doesn’t know that; just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean he’s stupid. 

They just don’t tell him _how_ he’s supposed to relax or where to find the strength to let his guard down.

Ben is pretty damn sure that the one thing that might do the trick is there for the asking; that the one person who can make it all better is less than three feet away. Unfortunately Ronnie is also the one person Ben can't tell and what he really needs is the one thing he can’t bring himself to admit to--no matter how he desperately wants it.

Even if it means going home early and empty-handed...

Never mind broken-hearted.


	3. Just In Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie mentions in episode 3 that Ben has said something to the effect of "gimme a few cocktails and I'll go gay for you." This is how I interpreted how that scenario played out (the suggestion, not the actual sex you pervs. Lemme work up to that, 'K?).

The next day Ronnie wakes to an empty room.

It’s the first time since they’ve been there that Ben is up first, and he wonders if things would be easier for them both if he got a new roommate.

If nothing else, it might go a long way towards making Ben feel more comfortable. Knowing that he didn't have to sleep at attention, muscles tensed and ready in an instant to fend off a late night sneak attack from the Horny Gay Fairy, might make a world of difference to him. And not having a distractingly beautiful and utterly unattainable face so close by to stare at ‘til all hours of the morning would certainly mean a few more hours of rest each night for himself.

Nervously he paces the room, collecting his thoughts, and tries to summon the courage to go ask, ever fearful that the answer will be a resounding and definite, “Hell yes!”

On his tenth attempt to walk out the door a shirtless and barefoot Ben appears and Ronnie freezes in his tracks; he feels dizzy, the blood rushing from his head to his cock throwing him out of whack, and the carefully worded speech he had prepared is quickly forgotten.

“What’s up, man?” Ben asks as he sits down on the bed--Ronnie’s bed--and casually leans back to rest on one elbow.

Again, words escape him.

He looks so _good_ lounging there, half naked among the rumpled sheets, that Ronnie can’t help but lose himself in an image of a sex-sated Ben lying next to _him_ , sharing _his_ pillow, nestled in _his_ sheets, on _his_ bed, wearing nothing but a smile.

But reality is a demanding bitch and it comes crashing down, hard.

"Ronnie?"

He's back in the here an now once again, and knows that it would be easier if he just comes out with what he has to say. _Do it fast,_ he tells himself. _Like ripping off a band-aid in one tug so it doesn’t hurt as much._ But everyone knows that's an out-and-out lie. Slow, fast--it doesn't make a bit of difference.

So he takes a deep breath and asks, "Would you be more comfortable with a different roommate?”

The question comes out so quickly that the words all run together. Ben lifts one eyebrow and replies, “Do what?”

Ronnie pauses a moment to settle his nerves, to steel himself for the inevitable rejection he knows will come with Ben's answer, and repeats, “I was thinking you might be more comfortable sharing a room with someone else.” His heart skips a beat and his stomach drops to his knees as he waits for a response.

“No way, man!” Ben tells him adamantly without skipping a beat. “We’re buds, right? Got each other’s backs?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he answers, relieved but still wary. “I just…” Ronnie falters. “I just figured it might make things easier for you.”

Ben scoffs at that. “Hardly. Spending all that time getting to know someone _else_ well enough to let them borrow my boxers? Not worth the effort.”

Ronnie smiles comforted that, barring any other obstacles, their friendship is still on solid ground. With a dramatic sigh he plops down on the bed next to Ben and offers, “Well, just so you know…you don’t have to worry about me getting you drunk so I can try to have my way with you or anything.”

Ben pulls away, leans forward to brace his arms on his knees and, with his head down answers, “Thanks.” After a moment of awkward silence he turns to Ronnie and hesitantly adds, “Although, get a couple of shots in me and I might just let you.” The laugh that follows his statement is brusque and tinged with nervous self-awareness.

Ronnie grins, rolling his eyes and snorts good-naturedly, “Right. As if.” Giving Ben a firm, manly pat on the back he responds with a smirk and flirtatious wink, “Good to know though.”

He figures that, despite what seems like a clear--if hesitantly offered--invitation to try, now is not the right time to push the issue.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Ronnie from asking one of the others where he can find a big bottle of vodka. Just in case.


	4. Judgment Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Ronnie handles Ben's first trip to judge's panel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beated by [](http://lardencelover.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lardencelover.livejournal.com/)**lardencelover**.

Ronnie watches a barely conscious Ben reach out to turn off the blaring alarm and smiles when, once again, he misses completely. It happens every morning, like clockwork and every morning Ronnie puts on his glasses and hops up to do it for him. Sure, the sound annoys him to no end but, truth be told, he did it for no other reason than to watch Ben sleep just a little while longer.

He can’t help but wonder if today is the last time he’ll get to stare at that beautiful face; at the full lips he is dying to kiss and smooth skin he itches to touch. Wonder if he’ll ever be able to fall asleep again without the soft sound of Ben’s deep, even breathing to lull him, and feels his heart slowly break.

Sitting there in the early morning light, all he can do is hope and pray that America won’t let him down. They’d given Ben _to_ him; they wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ take him away. Not yet. It was too soon and there were far too many things left to be said, to be shared. Ronnie just didn’t want to believe that their story was over before it really even had a chance to begin.

So he takes a deep breath, scrubs a hand over his face and then plasters on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Wiping the tears from his glasses with the hem of his shirt he reaches down to gently rub Ben’s shoulder.

“Wake-y wake-y. It’s Judgment Day.”

Ben stretches, slips on his own glasses and says, “Yeah, it is.”

“You want me to come hold your hand?” Ronnie asks softly, half in jest. To his surprise Ben answers, “Yeah.” He laughs it off, thinking that Ben is just playing with him, but he can tell that the other man is scared of going home and desperately in need of reassurance. So he gives it to him.

“Don’t worry. Today will be a good day. I can feel it.”

Ben sits up with a doubtful huff, swings his legs over the edge of his bed and then slumps forward, his arms barely holding him up as he braces himself on his knees.

“Glad someone can,” he mumbles.

Ronnie steals a glance at the ever-present camera, at the videography team which is now, more than ever, an imposition. All he wants to do was wrap his arms around Ben, to console him and make the man believe in himself again, to kiss away the doubt. That is, if Ben would even let him.

They were close but, no matter how much he cares, that is a line he isn’t sure he could cross. Not yet. Or possibly ever. And, he tells himself, that’s why he needs more time, why _they_ need more time. To find out. To see if the tension between them is more than just…well, whatever it is.

Of course, nothing was possible so long as they had an audience. It’s one thing to flirt and play coy and act up for the sport of it, to play to the camera and have fun, but while he’d easily professed to his feelings for Ben--repeatedly, he reminds himself--the last thing he wants is for absolute proof of it to be memorialized on film.

And for April to ever see it. She isn’t a fool. She loves her husband dearly, of that he has no doubt, and while she might be all right with the _idea_ of him crushing on Ben, she would easily spot a kindred spirit by his actions and that would be an entirely different thing altogether. It's unlikely she'd take kindly to that.

He could admit to being unabashedly selfish in a lot of circumstances, but he's not heartless or cruel; he doesn't think he could that to her, to Ben. Even so, there's no real sense of absolutely certainty; his heart, when involved, rarely wants to listen to him, if ever. In fact, it had a horrible habit of doing the opposite of whatever he resolved was the right thing to do.

Of course, no matter what happens, or doesn’t, it would certainly be a hell of a lot easier to pretend either way if the camera wasn’t always just _there._

He wants nothing more than to ask the impossible, to request that Gia take the crew somewhere, anywhere, else. To find another contestant to interview. Dominick is an attention whore and is certainly sure to have something to complain about; he always does. Why don’t they go bother him?

Yes, it was in the contract that every moment of every day could be filmed, and he knows this, but still, he can’t help but feel trapped. Why did they have to be here now? Didn’t they realize how close they were to putting him in an awkward position? Of betraying his own scruples and potentially hurting Ben (by hurting someone he loves) in the process, just by being here during all of this?

He turns to look at them accusingly, to plead with them to leave—

Only to find they were already gone.

Ronnie makes a mental note to kiss that woman, soundly, for her foresight, her generosity, her short attention span, whatever possessed her to move on, and then quickly crosses across the room.

Taking Ben’s unsteady hands in his, Ronnie kneels down in front of the bed. He presses his forehead against Ben’s and whispers vehemently, as if to convince himself of it as well, “You _will_ be coming back.”

Ben snorts and laughs derisively, shaking his head. He pulls his hands out of Ronnie’s tight grip and with that simple action Ronnie fears that he’s crossed that unspoken line.

But instead of moving away, Ben twists his wrists to weave their fingers together. It takes everything Ronnie has not to throw caution to the wind and pull Ben into his arms…

When Ben makes the decision for him.

“One last hug,” he declares, a spoken caress that sends shivers up Ronnie’s spine; a whisper he feels tickle his ear and travel down the side of his neck as he’s pulled forward into Ben’s embrace.

“One last,” he agrees softly, his arms sliding around Ben’s back, their hands still intertwined.

Ronnie rests his head on Ben’s shoulder, his hands on his hips, comfortable in the embrace, the silence; and for a second, just one, he wishes like hell that the camera hadn’t moved on. If this really _is_ Ben’s last day then _this_ is definitely something he wants to remember. Forever. But he guesses he really doesn’t need them to do that.

After a moment Ben pulls away and Ronnie braces himself for the fallout, for the almost forced camaraderie to mark the return of normalcy. Waits for the laughing shove that will mean it’s time for their “best-buds” behavior to kick in once again.

As if anything in his life would ever be normal again.

But for some reason, it never comes.

Ronnie notices Ben glance briefly at his mouth and watches, breathlessly, as those beautiful baby blues slowly travel upward to linger on his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his hair, before coming back down to settle on his mouth.

 _Oh God,_ Ronnie thinks and then pulls back, suddenly, inexplicably afraid of the one thing he’s wanted, dreamt of, yearned for, ever since he first laid eyes on Ben…

That Ben would kiss him

He blinks once, twice and then glances nervously at the clock on the window-sill. Almost apologetically he says, “You should pack now. Don’t want to make the judges wait.”

And just like that the moment is over. Their moment is over. After all of his blustering bravado, Ronnie chickens out.

Ben nods reluctantly and leans forward making Ronnie jump back even further. Only, he was reaching under the bed and pull out his suitcase--not for him--and Ronnie feels like a complete ass for thinking otherwise. For thinking that Ben was really going to kiss him.

Ronnie swallows the lump in his throat that won’t let him speak, won’t let him ask for clarification of what happened between them just then, too scared that he really _has_ missed his chance. Shaking his head he stands up and walks over to his side of the room. He throws on a shirt and busies himself with making the bed, but watches out of the corner of his eye as Ben puts in his contacts and then slowly begins to pull down his clothes.

With every garment he folds and places in the case Ronnie says a prayer for his safe return.

About half-way through the camera crew returns to film Ben again, and Ronnie tamps down the fear, the indecision, and the hesitation. He pastes on his most charming smile, puts in his own contacts, and pretends that nothing happened.

Because really, nothing _did_ happen.

At least, he thinks nothing happened. Damn. The not knowing is killing him. His stomach hurts—or is that his heart-breaking?—he’s not sure. He wants to throw up, to jump for joy, to go back in time and do it all over again, and this time kiss Ben stupid. Take _his_ breath away and force him to make a choice.

But it will have to wait for another time, another stolen moment. If there are to be anymore, that is. With the lights on him once more, Ben walks out into the hall and tells them he’s not ready to go, that he doesn’t think it’s his time yet. His voice is steady, and he’s never sounded more sure of himself.

Ronnie has never been so proud of him and he swears that if-- no **when** Ben comes back, he won’t let another one of _those_ moments pass, not without giving it a shot.

He laughs, the joyful sound reverberating throughout the house and loud enough to wake those too lazy or self-involved to commiserate with those who would be sent home.

Ben returns to their room a moment later and, packing again, says, “Laugh it up asshole. You have a one in three chance of having to find a new roommate.”

“I’m not going to lose my roommate just yet,” Ronnie tells him, never more certain of that statement than he is right now. “Well, I’ll be sitting by the door, waiting for you to come through,” he promises.

Ben laughs as well and answers sternly, “You better.”

And he will.

Ronnie knows he shouldn’t ask, that they’ve already had their goodbye, privately; but once Ben is finished packing he says it anyway, because he just has to know. “I want to hug you.”

They both laugh, again. Ben smiles and agrees. “Like I said, this is your last time.”

It’s a jovial comment, a reminder of what they shared earlier, and as they embrace Ronnie knows Ben will be back. Just knows it.

“Be strong,” he says and grabs the suitcase to carry it downstairs for Ben.


	5. Have Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben asks Ronnie his opinion on April's comment*: "You do whatever you feel you have to do to win. Make all that you’re going through, all that you’re putting me through…make it mean something."
> 
> It's just acting, right?
> 
> (*Not a real statement; artistic liberty taken)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beated by [](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/)**evilmaniclaugh** , the best friend a girl can have and the one person knows me better than I know myself.

Ronnie can’t breathe.

Waiting to see who walks through that door is more nerve-racking than anything he’s ever been through, anything he ever wants to go through again and he hates it. Hates how much he cares about which of them goes home next, hates how much it says about him and his dedication. This is a competition; any elimination, no matter who it is, means he’s one step closer to winning. He should be keeping that goal in mind and stop focusing so intently on the outcome of a vote he had no part of. He should stop biting his nails and worrying his lip, stop running his hands nervously through his hair and fidgeting in his seat like a newly potty-trained toddler.

He knows all of this, and realizes that simply willing Ben to survive the panel will not make it so. But still, he can’t stop the ache in his heart at the thought of losing him, the nagging feeling in his gut that tells him that there is more between them than his infatuation, or the whisper in his brain that curses him for taking his eye off the real prize.

Ronnie struggles to keep the anxiety he’s feeling off of his face because he doesn’t want to show weakness, especially not in front of this pack of hyenas. Doesn’t want to be their next victim. He’s seen how they tear each other down when it’s convenient, when the camera shines on them and they jockey for position, when the subject of their ridicule isn’t there to defend themselves. He’s guilty of it too, even if his criticisms of Dominick are dead on; but the difference is if Dominick asked, he’d tell him the same things to his face. _Has_ told him the same things, repeatedly. Not that it did any good.

But no matter how hard he tries to conceal his feelings, he’s not as good with the subterfuge as he thought he could be. The other contestants are falling all over themselves to cheer him up, stroking his ego by praising Ben, reminding him of how good Ben is--can be--if he just has more time to prove it.

Like Ronnie doesn’t realize this.

Ben, while being his heart’s desire, is also his biggest competition. They are practically the same height, share the same coloring, have a similar wholesome, all-American look about them. From the comments repeatedly posted on their blogs, his fans are Ben’s fans as well. And while that secretly delights him, Ronnie knows that one elimination day it may come down to the voters having to choose between them. If that day comes, even though it would break his heart, Ronnie also knows he will do whatever it takes to make sure _he_ stays. He’s worked too hard to get this far, spent too many years doing cheesy catalogue work and corny commercials to just roll over and let someone else walk away with his dream.

This dream, that is.

The thing is Ronnie is also pretty sure that Ben would do the same; that, just like Ronnie has vowed to do, Ben would sacrifice everything, would move heaven and earth to win this competition.

It’s why they’ve consistently done better in every challenge. In front of the camera, in the gym, on the catwalk--like two tennis pros whose games improve simply by playing each other--they fuel one another to do better. And they always have each other's backs.

Ronnie nods at Perry’s comment and sighs, deciding to wonder about whether or not that’s a good thing later. At this moment all he wants to concentrate on is seeing Ben’s smile once again.

The door opens...and there it is.

It takes everything Ronnie has not to jump straight into Ben’s arms, to smother him with kisses and proclaim his love in front of the gods and everyone. Instead, he lets the others congratulate him and hangs behind, waiting for his chance to greet Ben when no one else is clamoring for his attention.

Their hug is short but sweet and Ronnie knows that he’ll have at least another week to tell Ben--show him--how glad he is to have him back.

And finally Ronnie can breathe again.

 

**********

Later, Ronnie and Ben are lying in their beds, silently contemplating the day’s events while the rest of the house, having gone to bed hours earlier, sleeps.

Ronnie glances at Ben, watches him idly play with a string on his blanket, lost in thought. He’s been quiet for a really long time, ever since he got off the phone with April, and Ronnie is dying to know what he’s thinking, needs to ask how he felt about their playing-acting, their almost make-out session. He’s dying to know if having Aryn around made things better or more awkward between them, and—given his surprising reaction to Shannon--if he should even contemplate the idea of suggesting the three of them…

Ronnie shakes his head, desperate to clear his mind of an erotic image that’s having an obvious effect on his crotch, and clears his throat. “So, what did you think about the photo-shoot?” he asks, hoping to break the ice.

Ben snorts lightly. “It was out there. Not sure how well that’s gonna go over at home when April actually sees the footage though.”

“Yeah, I wondered about that. It’s why I brought it up in front of the cameras. Why I wanted to make sure you had a chance to set the record straight when the episode gets aired.” Ben nods and Ronnie thinks there’s a ‘thank you’ in that somewhere. “I imagine that’s going to be a difficult conversation.”

Ben doesn’t answer at first and once again Ronnie wonders if he’s crossed into non-discussion territory again. After a moment, Ben sits up and answers. “Well, she knows it’s all just part of the process. We talked about it earlier--about the competition, the practice and actual photo-shoots we did--and she said something odd. Caught me kinda off guard, to be honest. She said, ‘You do _whatever_ you feel you have to do to win. Make all that you’re going through, all that you’re putting _me_ though…make it _mean_ something.’ What do you think she meant by that?”

Ronnie doesn’t want to think about it because it makes him like April even more, makes him jealous that Ben has someone so dedicated to his dreams that she’d willingly go through hell for him. It also forces him to acknowledge, to appreciate, what those two have together…which in turn makes Ronnie even more uncomfortable with his ever-growing attachment to--and love-- for Ben. After all, no matter what happens—or doesn’t happen—here in the house, Ben is going home to _her_. Of that Ronnie is sure.

No matter how often he tells himself, none of that matters though. It’s better to have a chance at love, even if it means a broken heart in the end, and he has to see this through. For all he knows they’re actually a modern-day Romeo and Julian, or some such nonsense, and Ben will chose him over his wife. Of course, if by some chance that happens, never mind the miracle of actually having his feelings returned, Ronnie really hopes that the end is re-written for them.

And that comment? Ronnie _really_ doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to dwell on the _what if_ s and _maybe so_ s, the _could be_ s and the _oh, please god_ s, but Ben is asking for his opinion and Ronnie feels that he owes it to him.

“She just misses you, wants to know that you’re committed to making this work. Your marriage and modeling,” he says. Okay, so it’s a watered down, less graphic version of his opinion, but he’s not sure Ben is ready to hear that he thinks Ben’s wife just gave them permission to fuck.

Ben nods hesitantly. “Yeah, I guess.”

Ronnie sits up, taken aback at the disappointment he hears in that grudgingly given agreement. “Why? What did _you_ think she meant?”

Ben averts his eyes and laughs softly. Flushing hotly, he tells Ronnie, “Well, we were talking about how stiff my walk is and how I need to loosen up, about what she and I usually do to get me more relaxed.” Stammering he adds, “And-- you know-- maybe asking for help. Your help to, you know...”

He doesn’t finish that sentence and Ronnie is grateful for the time to think because, truthfully? He is beyond shocked. Flabbergasted, more like it, and at a loss to provide an answer. For one, because it sounds like his thoughts on April’s statement are dead on and it’s scary how much he adores her now; two, because Ben knows exactly what she meant by it and is only asking _his_ opinion as a way to broach the subject; three, because all the blood in his body just rushed straight to his cock and he doesn’t think he could make his mouth work right now if his life depended on it; and four, because all his heart can do is scream “HELL YES” and, really--he’s not so keen on the idea.

Well, his body may be up for it, and his heart might be urging him to jump in with both feet as well. But his brain? His brain thinks this is a Very Bad Idea.

He's lost count of the number of times that his female friends would come running to him, would cry on his shoulder, whining about men in general because, in their minds, sex equaled love, and hearing their sob stories never failed to exasperate him (especially since they never learned their lesson). He’d commiserate with them and tell them they deserved better, that everything would be okay--eventually--all the while thankful that he was gay. After all, the guys he knew were different; with them sex was sex and love was love and rarely the twain shall meet.

In his experience, even when the sex was good, really good, it didn’t automatically mean anything. Certainly not that one of them was bound for a broken heart the day after a fully satisfying round of doing the mattress mambo--repeatedly--when the other never bothered to call back. Or that they owed each other a life-long commitment just because they saw fireworks--again, repeatedly--since it really, only was just sex.

But suddenly he understands exactly what they meant, feels what they felt, and knows the sweet joy of having everything he’s ever wanted just within reach.

And it terrifies him.

Ben must have felt his apprehension, his fear, because he changes the subject. Sort of.

“So, did you really get turned on by Shannon?”

Ronnie blinks and, his mind still racing, answers out of habit. “Yeah. Like I said, it surprised the hell out of me. I’ve never even made out with a woman, so I certainly didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Ben nods his understanding but his reply is tight-lipped. “She is hot, in that high-fashion really needs to eat a cookie kind of way.”

Awkwardly, Ronnie laughs because it almost sounds like Ben might be a bit jealous and again, that’s not something he feels up to dealing with just yet. “What about you?” he asks, hoping to deflect the attention elsewhere.

Ben cocks his head to the side. “What about me?”

“I know you said it was innocent, that you didn’t ‘catch wood’--a phrase I love by the way--but was it hard?”

They both laugh at how the question is phrased. Neither of them can help it; they’re guys, perpetually twelve years old when it comes to innuendo and double-entendres. Ronnie wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes and clarifies. “Yeah, okay. I asked for that, but you know what I mean. Did you have to think about it, detach yourself from what was going on so that you didn’t get excited?”

“With Katy?” Ben asks.

Ronnie falters. Of course he meant with Katy. Who the hell else could Ben be talking about? Unless...

“Yeah. I mean, no. I didn’t have to. She just doesn’t do it for me.”

He knows he shouldn’t ask, that he’s pretty sure of the answer to his next question, but he just can’t help it. He has to know, needs for Ben to say it out loud, get it out in the open so they can deal with the situation head on. He feels his chest tightening with anticipation, but Ronnie swallows his fears and asks, “Anybody that would have?”

Ben grins and blushes again. “Maybe,” he teases. Only, from the way he’s looking at Ronnie, Ronnie doesn’t think he’s teasing at all.

His heart drops to his stomach and yet, Ronnie can’t let it go. Pushing it further he prods, “Oh, come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

“Well, I’m sure Perry and Casey looked hot...” he begins, dropping to his knees and slowly inching his way across the floor.

Ronnie watches him move, thrilled and excited and scared to death and oh so much in love with this man. “But?” he asks, holding his breath when Ben’s hands slide up Ronnie’s legs to rest on his thighs.

With a crooked smile and a come-hither look that Ronnie _never_ thought would be directed at him, he answers, “I think we would have worked better.”

Again, Ronnie is speechless. Whether it’s because of Ben’s statement or the feel of Ben’s fingers working their way up to his belt buckle, Ronnie can’t be sure.

Ben moves for Ronnie’s fly and deftly undoes the button, never breaking eye contact as he slides down the zipper. The intensity of this whole exchange unnerves Ronnie, sets him on fire.

“Really?” Ronnie squeaks at the feel of Ben’s warm hand as it brushes across his stomach. “You really would have been okay with that?” he asks, breathless, eagerly helping Ben drag his shirt up and pants down. “Making out with me...for the entire world to see?”

Ben’s lips brush against his chest and Ronnie starts as the other man answers, Ben's hot breath sending shivers down his spine and bolts of lightning straight to his cock, “It’s just acting, right?”

Well, maybe for him. But for Ronnie it’s a whole other experience, and one that he’s not sure he would have handled all that professionally. Judging by his reaction to Shannon he could only imagine how he hard he would have gotten having Ben touch him so intimately.

Actually, he doesn’t have to imagine anything. Ben’s lips are pressed against his throat, his hands, hot and needy--one tucked into the waistband of Ronnie’s underwear, the other wrapped behind his back, clutching his ass--his denim-clad crotch pressed against Ronnie’s now-bare thigh...all that he’s dreamt of. Happening. _Right now._

And all Ronnie can think about is saying to hell with his good intentions, grabbing Ben and flipping him over, stripping him of every stitch of clothing, running his hands and mouth along each and every inch of his skin, touching, feeling, drowning in the sheer ecstasy of it. Gulping for air Ronnie swallows his pride, his fear, decides that this is his chance to find out if reality lives up to his imagination and wraps his arms around Ben, ready to surrender. Ready to let love in...

...when Ben stops and pulls back, retreats to the other side of the room leaving Ronnie breathless and achingly hard.

“See?” he says, grinning from ear to ear, the smug little shit. He strips off his shirt, providing Ronnie with a glimpse of the beautiful body he was so close to claiming, to allowing himself to open up for, climbs under the covers and then adds with a snap, “Piece of cake.”

Ronnie struggles to get his pants up, straining to close them over a raging hard-on. If he wasn't so worked up, so embarrassed at how easily he reacted--no, _jumped_ at the chance to sleep with Ben--he might find the situation funny. As it is, he knows that there is only one thing that would take care of it now so he grabs a towel and his dop-kit.

Adding insult to injury, Ben snickers as Ronnie snatches a change of clothes from the closet and then teases Ronnie with, “Don’t forget to turn the light off. All that _hard_ work sure gets tiring, and I have a feeling you’ll be in the bathroom for quite a while.”


	6. It's All Fun & Games ('Till Somebody Gets Hurt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a little too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by [](http://neroli66.livejournal.com/profile)[**neroli66**](http://neroli66.livejournal.com/) and [](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/)**evilmaniclaugh**.

Ronnie has always enjoyed a good role-play scenario, but after a while of hamming it up as a teacher he musses his hair and loosens his tie, more comfortable being the schoolboy, and he wishes he’d thought of it before the girls all went to bed. The role-reversal certainly would have made things more interesting.

Not that this night hasn’t had enough memorable moments what with all the Zoolander impressions and undecipherable rapping, the tons of snarking and hours of idle gossip. Evidently the appletinis that Ronnie made were a hit as even Perry gives up on his more traditional --and manly, according to him-- rum and cola.

“You know, if this modeling thing doesn’t work out you’d make one hell of a bartender,” he slurs and Ronnie can’t decide if he’s just being Perry, the slightly passive aggressive, sly schemer trying to psych him out, or if he’s simply being cordial. Of course, if Ronnie’d had a few more cocktails he doesn’t think it would really matter...

The play-acting is all fun and games for a while, and the other guys are having a ball with it, but at some point things get out of control and the atmosphere takes a definite turn towards kinky. Casey is once again fishing around in Perry’s pockets -- what _does_ he have in there that the boy is so desperate to get at? – while Perry is rubbing his head like he’s hoping a genie will appear. And Frankie has decided to treat them all to a strip tease.

He may be an ass sometime but Ronnie has to give him credit, the guy certainly can dance.

And Ben, well…Ronnie can tell that Ben’s had a little too much to drink just by the way he’s looking back at him. Staring, flashing him a come-hither look and licking his lips repeatedly, like he’s anticipating the taste of some sweet treat that he’s been dying to sample.

Not that Ronnie minds, of course. Except that he does. Those looks are making it hard for him to sit still, making him hard in general; and after their conversation earlier he’s even more confused than ever.

****

Ben was hunched over while he was sitting on the bed. “She’s really gone, man.”

He doesn’t have to clarify. Ronnie knows exactly what he means. Aryn got voted off a few days ago and they’ve both been trying not to let it get them down; and up until that moment, simply ignoring the issue had worked. “Yeah, The house is so quiet without her, I feel like a part of us is missing…much more so than when Dominick or even Sara was voted off.”

“That’s because she was a part of us,” Ben says. “ _Us_.”

Ronnie sighs and nods, feeling the void more acutely. “I really feel like shit for telling her I’ll miss her. Like I jinxed it or something.”

And he does think that; he wishes he could go back to that morning and simply tell her he’d see her later, like it would make a difference. It _would_ make a difference to him, if nothing else, and he’s decided to take the good-byes more seriously from now on.

“Yeah, I hear that. But it wasn’t your fault,” Ben tells him. “The voters just didn’t see in her what we do. But you know she’s a tough chick. She’ll do fine on her own,” he adds with a sad little smile.

“Sure, once she gets everything with her boyfriend cleared up.”

Ben snaps his fingers in agreement. “Exactly. I hope she won’t let him hold her back.”

Ronnie can’t help but wonder whether Ben was talking about Aryn or if he’s making a statement about himself. Taking a deep breath he asks, “Do you feel like maybe April is holding you back? That maybe, if you weren’t married, that you might feel more at ease with all of this? With having to drop the ‘jail guard’ persona?”

Ben takes a minute to think, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times like he needed to re-word his response. Finally he replies, “No. Not really.”

It wasn’t the answer Ronnie had hoped to hear. Nevertheless, it was precisely the answer he expected.

Clearing his throat Ben clarifies, “Well, maybe. I mean, I just have to be so careful with what I say and do, especially since everything ends up on TV, and that adds pressure. Pressure to be the perfect husband she knows me to be.”

Remembering the state Ben left him in after their impromptu “chemistry experiment” Ronnie quips, “Well, not so perfect.”

They both laugh, awkwardly, and Ronnie isn’t sure that they are laughing at the same thing. “Yeah, maybe not,” Ben says with a wry smile, sounding almost relieved to admit it.

“Do you still think about what she said?” Ronnie asks, swallowing hard to push away the fear that he’ll say it was all a joke, that she didn’t mean anything by it.

Ben snorts and tells him seriously, “All the fucking time.”

Well, at least that answer puts his doubt to rest. Ronnie takes another deep breath and continues, “Guess that doesn’t help either, does it? Knowing that you have her permission to do whatever you think you need to do to win? Not that you need it of course. I mean, you are your own person, able to make your own decisions and live with the consequences…just, you know…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Ben replies. “And no, it doesn’t help. Makes me think about how great she is and how I don’t want to risk losing her.” Ben frowns and then looks at Ronnie, hard, like he blames Ronnie for even making that an issue. “Of course, if you weren’t so damn understanding, so earnest, open and honest...not to mention incredibly hot--you know, for a guy--then I doubt I’d be so conflicted.”

Ronnie can’t help but bask in the grudgingly given compliment, especially since it is coming from Ben, and he considers pushing him into saying more. But he hates to wear his heart is on his sleeve, hates how it makes him vulnerable, and he can’t imagine it’s any easier for Ben. So he laughs and says, “Yeah, right.”

Ben smiles that lop-sided grin that always makes Ronnie’s insides turn to jelly and tells him, “It’s true man. I don’t know...maybe all this wouldn’t be so hard on me if you were a girl.” Then he shakes his head. “No, actually that would probably make it worse. Besides, you said you’d never cross that line right? That all we’ll ever be is just good friends. So it doesn’t matter. I just need to work through it. Get my head into the game and all. Stop letting everything get to me.”

It’s a suggestion that Ronnie believes he should listen to as well.

As they undress for bed Ronnie wonders if he shot himself in the foot with that statement though; that maybe Ben’s insecurities had a lot more to do with what is going on between them than he ever imagined. But after the other night he couldn’t stop himself, he just felt so damned guilty about the whole thing. Sure, Ben might have been playing with him, teasing him, but he felt that somehow it was his fault. That he’d egged it on. That if he’d just kept his damned mouth shut about his feelings that none of this would have ever become a problem and Ben wouldn’t feel so emotionally torn.

So, like an idiot, he’d pushed the issue when Ben mentioned April’s weight-loss and how things are perceived between them at home. He’d said some things he wished he hadn’t, especially the part about not crossing a line because every fiber of his being demands that he give it a shot. That he give Ben a chance to prove he wasn’t just playing; that he toss all caution to the wind and do everything within his power to try and win Ben’s heart. He didn’t lie when he’d said that an unmarried--and definitely gay--Ben would be a dream come true, because he would be. Hell, he is anyway.

And now, well, as Ben turns off the light and rolls over to face the wall, to Ronnie it seems like the whole thing is off the table.

*****

Ronnie shakes his head, clearing his mind of that particular conversation and decides to head for bed himself. It’s been a long day and he definitely needs to sleep off the alcohol before tomorrow. He’s got enough working against him and adding the pain of a hang-over to his already aching heart wouldn’t help matters. It would just get in the way of him concentrating on performing well in whatever task they’re set to do.

He waves goodnight but he’s relatively sure no one notices him leave, what with Frankie serenading himself, still naked, in the floor-length mirror and Perry licking salt off Casey’s cheek.

In the hall outside of the kitchen Ronnie pulls up short to keep from running into Ben. They do the awkward slide left and skip right as each tries to pass without touching but then Ben grabs him by the shoulders, pushes him hard against the wall and whispers, “You’ve been a bad boy.”

Ronnie knows _he’s_ had too much to drink when he decides to play along, to see where this is going. “I have?” he asks, placing his hands on Ben’s waist and smirking sexily.

Ben clucks his tongue and shakes his head as if disappointed. Putting his finger in the cleft of Ronnie’s chin, Ben chides him, “Yes. Teasing the teacher with your smoldering eyes and dangerous good looks? Blowing kisses to distract him? Not a good move.”

He didn’t remember doing the last but whatever, it sounded exactly like something he would do. “Really?” he asks, his eyebrows inching up. “I thought it was inspired.”

Licking his lips Ben answers, “Actually, it was.”

Before Ronnie even knows what is happening, Ben is kissing him, hard and fast and deep. Ronnie is kissing back, but can’t catch his breath, doesn’t really want to while Ben’s hands are everywhere and nowhere, touching him in ways he’s only dreamt about and yet not touching him intimately enough.

The kiss seems to last forever and they stumble up the stairs, their lips and teeth and tongues vying for dominance. Bouncing off walls and doors they finally they reach their room and together they fall on Ronnie’s bed, hands quickly working to strip each other of the damn clothes that keep their skin from touching.

Ben comes up for air and then rolls Ronnie over, pressing him into the bed and grinding against him as he reaches down between their bodies. Positioning both cocks in order to make maximum use of the friction, he whispers, “See? All it took was a few cocktails.”

His fevered admission immediately breaks the spell for Ronnie. He can’t do this. Won’t do this. Not now. Not like this. No matter how much he’s yearned for Ben look at him like this, touch him like this, kiss him like this, he also knows that it’s not enough. Ronnie wants so much more than a quick fuck.

Grabbing the blanket from the pile of linens beside him he pushes Ben away and moves to cover his raging hard-on. “We can’t.”

Ben shoves Ronnie’s hands aside, moving the blanket away, and then straddles him angrily asking, “Why the hell not?” as he licks his way down Ronnie’s chest.

Ben’s hands and lips and tongue are making Ronnie question that same thing as well, but he gathers all the internal strength he can muster in order to push him off.

Sitting up, his hands on his hips, Ben accuses him, “I thought this is what you wanted.”

Ronnie looks away, unable to meet Ben’s eyes as he grapples with his indecision, and then answers, “It is.” When Ben reaches out to touch him, he flinches. “No, it isn’t. Not like this.”

Ben reaches down to wrap his hand around Ronnie’s cock and leans forward to press his own against it. “Well, this is all I’m offering.”

“It’s not enough,” he whispers, hoping that Ben can tell how much it is killing him to say no. Hoping that Ben will see that this is not just a game to him.

“Fuck,” Ben curses, standing up from the bed. He starts to pace the room then grabs his stomach before slapping a hand over his mouth making a run for the bathroom. Completely ignoring the voice telling him not to, that Ben wouldn’t want Ronnie to see him like this, Ronnie follows, worried.

Ben barely makes it to the toilet before losing his breakfast, lunch and dinner, and if he had any hair Ronnie would have gladly held it back for him. Instead, he grabs a towel to cover Ben’s nakedness as he kneels there on the floor hugging his porcelain god, tucks another around his own waist and then rubs Ben’s back soothingly.

When the gagging stops and the dry heaves dissipate, he figures there’s nothing left to throw up so Ronnie goes to the sink. He wets a washcloth, rings it out and then reaches forward to hand it to Ben, but the other man’s eyes are closed, his head pressed against the cool ceramic, so Ronnie wipes his mouth for him and helps him back up onto his feet. Wrapping one slightly shaking arm around his neck, Ronnie practically carries Ben back to his own bed; all the while hoping that they hadn’t made too much noise earlier and no one else was up peeking into the hall. He knows what it would look like if anyone saw this, and he couldn’t live with any of them thinking he’s taking advantage of Ben.

Ronnie flicks off the light and then puts on a pair of boxers after tucking Ben under the covers. He tiptoes over to the other side of the room, grabs his own comforter and then crawls into bed beside Ben, pulling the blanket up around his chest and snuggling in close behind him.

As they lay there in the darkness Ronnie hopes to hell that Ben can’t hear him cry, that he doesn’t notice the tears he can’t hold back...

...all the while missing the ones streaming down Ben’s face.


	7. To Tell The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fashion Week, sharing a birthday and something is off with Ronnie so that Ben has to step up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by the lovely [](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/)**evilmaniclaugh**.

For days Ronnie tries his best to steer clear of Ben; he’s desperately hoping that the other man was simply too drunk to realize what he was doing that night, too drunk to even remember doing it. He knows that his anguish, the embarrassment over the whole ordeal, would be clearly written on his face and if Ben got too close he’d see it. Ronnie wants to spare him that. He figures that’s his own burden to bear.

Unfortunately, it seems that Ben is doing his best to avoid Ronnie as well and to Ronnie that could only mean one thing: that Ben does remember trying to have sex with him. In some strange way Ronnie is glad of it; glad that his actions prove the whole thing wasn’t just some strange fantasy. But the thought that Ben might be behaving this way, is being so aloof out of disgust—not embarrassment--always lingers in the back of his mind. It troubles him more than he’d like to admit but he does his best not to let it bother him, not to let it affect his performance. He can’t really do anything about it at this point anyway.

When they arrive at the tents for Fashion Week all the emotions he’s held so tightly to for so long come bubbling up and Ronnie feels like a helpless fool. Tears stream down his face as he remembers everything he’s had to do to get to this point, everything he’s struggled for, all the sacrifices his family has made to get him here, and it overwhelms him. Thankfully, in his moment of need Ben is there for him. Pushing aside whatever feelings he’s burdened with himself, Ben pulls Ronnie into his arms and provides him with the comfort he so desperately needs. That simple embrace means the world to him.

“Everything is okay,” Ben whispers softly as he strokes Ronnie’s hair.

Ronnie nods, wiping his tears with the palm of his hand, and when he looks up Ronnie can see the smile Ben is flashing, can see the apology written all over his face. It doesn’t take genius to know that he isn’t just talking about the fashion show.

****

After the birthday feast they retire to their room and laugh endlessly about Jacki’s unusual ‘talent.’

“I’ve heard of being able to burp on cue but man--that takes the cake.”

Ronnie giggles and adds, “Yeah. I don’t think by amazing ability to tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue comes close!”

“True that,” Ben replies with what Ronnie has coined his wistful face, and Ronnie secretly thinks Ben might be imagining what else he can do with his tongue. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, Ben adds, “I wonder if she can fart the alphabet.”

Both of them burst into laughter at the thought and it takes a few minutes before either of them can breathe. Gasping, Ben jumps up from his bed and snaps his fingers. “I forgot something,” he says as he heads out the door.

Ronnie is perplexed but waits patiently for him to return; it’s been a long time since the two of them just sat down together and talked, catwalk coaching aside, and he has to admit that being back to the status quo, as fucked up and painful as that is, is a huge relief. Ben is a big part of his life, always will be if he has anything to say about it, and the pressure they’ve been under this week has been a terrible strain on them both.

He’s gone only a moment and when Ben returns he stops outside the door, his back to Ronnie. “Cover your eyes,” he calls out over his shoulder and Ronnie complies.

He hears Ben shuffle in and his whole body protests, wants to bolt at the smell of something burning; but he holds back, trusting Ben implicitly.

“Surprise!” Ben calls out and Ronnie takes that as his cue to look.

In Ben’s hands is a huge slab of cake and buried in the middle are two candles burning brightly. Ronnie looks at him quizzically. This is the same cake they’d eaten downstairs and he’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to be surprised by.

“Uh, thanks?” he tells Ben, hesitantly.

Ben snickers and rolls his eyes. “No, dipshit. The cake isn’t the surprise. I just thought you’d like a chance for a do-over on the wish.”

At first Ronnie doesn’t know what to say since he’s pretty sure you don’t get a Mulligan for birthday wishes, but he plays along anyway when Ben brings it closer, kneels down in front of Ronnie and grabs his hand. This touch is a far cry from the Wonder-Twins action earlier, much more friendly and intimate, and for that alone he’s glad. He closes his eyes and makes his wish, a much different one than what he made earlier this evening.

“On three,” Ben tells him and then counts. On three they both blow out the flames.

“So, what did you wish for?” Ben asks with a smile as he places the cake beside Ronnie on the bed. He props his elbows on Ronnie’s knees and then cradles his chin in his hands flashing Ronnie that signature lop-sided grin. This time it is tinged with a bit of mystery and the twinkle in his eye makes Ronnie’s insides melt.

“If I tell you it won’t come true,” he replies, breathless. He’s not a terribly superstitious person but, like silly wishes you make on a falling star, you just don’t share them. Wishes have the ability to say something deep about a person and after the other night he’s not sure exactly what he is willing to share with Ben anymore.

Ben nods his head in silent agreement but doesn’t leave it at that. “Yeah, but if you don’t tell someone then there’s no way they can make it come true,” he prods, moving his hands to Ronnie’s thighs.

Now, if Ben had been talking about the wish he’d made at the restaurant, the one Frankie so accurately and lecherously predicted, then letting Ben know that he wanted another chance, that from now on he’d take whatever affection Ben was willing to give him, would have been a dream come true. Or, in this case, a wish come true. And from the look on Ben’s face he’s thinking that might be just what he’s expecting Ronnie to say. But this time around Ronnie wished that he could stop wearing his heart on his sleeve, could put aside his affection for this man long enough to prove that he is indeed supermodel material.

‘Be careful what you wish for’ has never been so true a saying as it is right now because he doesn’t have the heart to tell Ben the truth; doesn’t want to take the, admittedly slim, chance off the table completely. He’s learned that lesson. Nip something in the bud too many times and it will never bloom.

Confused and conflicted about what he really wants, Ronnie decides to quash the whole subject for now by telling Ben with a hollow smile, “Nope. Not going to jinx anything.” He can tell that Ben is disappointed by his answer, or maybe his reluctance to ‘fess up—whichever the case may be—so Ronnie playfully punches his shoulder and reminds him, “Besides, if I tell you mine you’d have to tell me yours. Wouldn’t want neither of them to come true, right?”

Ben nods again, placated for a moment and Ronnie breathes a sigh of relief, only slightly disappointed himself that it means he can’t find out what Ben wished for.

****

Things seem to be back to normal-- well as normal as they are ever going to be in a house full of prima donnas trying desperately to prove that were not scared shitless at having to walk for Fashion Week—but the models that thought they would do well in this challenge, in fact, did not and the tension is palpable. Perry’s normally cocky façade cracks a bit, and Frankie walks around muttering under his breath, constantly berating himself for his performance. Shannon, of course, continues to act as if nothing bothers her, but underneath that confidence is a fear that Ronnie never would have imagined possible in the woman. Holly goes about pretending that even butter won’t melt in her mouth and Katy, poor Katy, is actually deluding herself into believing she “killed it” on the runway.

For the first time Ronnie finds himself facing elimination and it terrifies him. Not because it would mean losing his shot with Ben or parting ways with the other friends he’s made on this journey. He expects to be melancholy about that; it’s just the kind of person he is. But what really scares him is the thought of having to go home to live with his parents again, at having to eek out his living on the too few and far between gigs he’s usually offered, all the while hoping that he’ll find a way to claw his way up, eventually.

Luckily, and he hates to admit it, Katy is also in the bottom with him; even though she has a lot of fans he’s hoping that some, if not most of them, have come to realize they’re backing a losing horse. He doesn’t mean to be catty, but the girl really is not high-fashion material.

Of course, Tyson doesn’t think Ronnie is either. Who’d have thought that his All-American, classic good looks--looks he can honestly says has had both men and women flocking to him for most of his life--would be a detriment.

The wait is interminable and instead of taking out his frustration in the gym he turns to the kitchen a little more than his waist-line will allow. When he was younger his Grandmother would always bake him something sweet to make him feel better and, in search of that same maternal comfort, he eats the exact kinds of things that, combined with the added burden of an abundance of stress hormones, goes straight to his much hated love-handles. Deep down he knows that he can’t continue to stuff his face, knows that this is a bad move, but at some point he simply stops caring; he figures if Katy’s on-line support rises to the occasion he’s going home anyway.

But not Ben. Ben, filling the role as the cheerleader this week, constantly reassures Ronnie that he is not going to be voted out, that America has more faith in him that evidently he does in himself. The sentiment is nice, but it doesn’t really alleviate Ronnie’s fears. He wonders if his own words to Ben sounded as hollow.

At one point Ben gets mad. He yells at Ronnie like he’s a prison guard berating an inmate, all for being short-sighted, for losing his focus; and if he’d been given those boxing lessons earlier Ronnie thinks he might have hauled off and popped him in the mouth for it. Well, no. Violence is simply not in his nature, but it was kind of nice to imagine doing something so out of character. Whether it was Ben’s stern lecture or getting out his frustrations on that coach he can’t say, but later something helps to snap him out of his funk.

With renewed determination he faces the judges and promises himself that, if he survives this elimination, he’ll never end up in the bottom again. But still, being so thoroughly trounced for an image the producers do everything in their power to play up worries him and he mulls over the idea of asking the judges for their advice on how to break out of his nice-guy persona.

****

Ben struggles to breathe and he winces at the sound of his gasp. It comes out sounding more like a laugh and that grates on his nerves. This is not the time to appear callous. The judges think he might be trying to sabotage Ronnie and the notion hits a little too close to home. It feels like he’s been punched in the gut because, at this point, sending Ronnie home is the last thing on his mind.

However, if they had said the same thing two weeks ago he would have easily laughed it off because, back then, he was.

No, he’s not proud of the fact that he’s toyed with Ronnie’s feelings in an attempt to throw the other man off his game; but he’d justified his actions as going to show how ruthless he is, how well he can handle the pressure and that he would do anything to win this competition. Anything. Ben told himself every time he’d tease Ronnie, play to his emotions, that Ronnie should know better, should guard himself against foul play; that it was all just a part of the game and that, really, no one was getting hurt.

And for a while he believed it. At least, until that fateful night when he’d tried to seduce Ronnie.

Pretending to be drunk out of his skull worked a whole lot better than he thought it would, but he figures kissing Ronnie the way he did--touching him, holding him, caressing him so intimately--went further toward convincing the other man to let him in, to let down his guard.

Unfortunately, it went even further toward proving to Ben that what he was doing was so terribly wrong that he couldn’t help getting sick after Ronnie refused to give in because he wanted so much more than just sex from Ben.

Ben thinks it was when Ronnie was stroking his back, or maybe it was when he wiped Ben’s face, that he realized he liked the attention. Liked the way Ronnie’s hands felt on him, both then and earlier in the bedroom. Liked being doted on and cared for and oh God, really liked being so completely and utterly overwhelmed by a simple kiss.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite a simple kiss, but the emotions he felt when their lips fused came rushing back to him as they lay there in his bed. For the first time in a long while he felt completely connected to someone, felt completely at home there in someone else’s arms, and it was Ronnie, not his wife, who made him feel that way. The guilt at what he’d tried to do and why threatened to smother him and he hated feeling so helpless, hated feeling like he might have messed up something so potentially, mind-shatteringly wonderful, that he cried. Cried for what this would mean to his marriage, cried for his aching heart, cried for Ronnie’s and cried for the man he thought he’d lost. Himself.

For days afterwards Ben tried to make it up to Ronnie, tried to be there for him when he needed it—-going so far as to provide visual enticement to help improve his walk when his confidence floundered. It was only fair since Ronnie had helped Ben with his and he knew he wouldn’t have made it this far without him. But he could tell that something was still off; Ronnie just wasn’t the same anymore.

He assumes that it was probably his lame attempt at getting Ronnie to open up to him, that the birthday wish do-over was an abysmal failure and made things awkward between them again so soon after patching things up. He can’t help that it didn’t go as well as he planned. Ben had expected Ronnie to say that, more than anything, he wished for another chance; that this time he wished that Ben would kiss him without needing liquid courage to ease the way. Hell, being so ready to do just that if asked, he’d counted on it. But no matter how badly he wanted the opportunity to kiss Ronnie again, to find out if all this pent up emotion he was struggling to accept was all in his head or the product of guilt, Ronnie wouldn’t take the bait.

Undaunted, determined to prove to Ronnie and to himself that he really did care, Ben poured all his energy into making sure that the next catwalk assignment would assure Ronnie’s safety. Of course, that didn’t work out quite as he planned either. His determination to make Ronnie look good and their enthusiasm for the skit came off all wrong and, despite his confidence that they’d pulled it off, the judges hated their performance.

Because of his win last week Ben knows he is safe from elimination. With his head bowed he walks back to the dressing room while every fiber of his being cries out at the unfairness. It seems that no matter how hard he tries everything he does lately backfires. The accusatory bomb that Tyson dropped on him hurts more than he can bear and when Ronnie returns, once again up for the vote, the only thing he can think to do is just hold onto his friend like his life depends on it--since, in some way he really thinks it might--and pray that Ronnie doesn’t think the same thing of him.

“It’s okay,” Ronnie tells him softly as he gently strokes Ben’s head. “I know you’d never do anything like that.”

However, Ben knows that everything is not okay. He has been unfairly manipulating Ronnie and as much as it terrifies him to think about the other man's reaction and the possible repercussions on their relationship Ben also knows that Ronnie deserves an explanation. As tears threaten to overwhelm him, Ben pulls back and takes a deep breath. Looking deeply into Ronnie’s eyes he says, “We need to talk.”


End file.
